


Unite Pariahs

by misfiredeacy



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Mr. Robot (TV), Rami Malek - Fandom
Genre: < from varied sources, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Character of Color, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Related, Dissociation, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other, Psychological Trauma, tag more later - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 23:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17130818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misfiredeacy/pseuds/misfiredeacy
Summary: >>> later <<<





	Unite Pariahs

I’ve always found it’s safer to be pursued than to pursue unless it’s truly necessary to my survival, which it often can be but not in how I’ve been directed it should. I want to be my own agent. My autonomy slips from my hands, and any sense of self-rule has comprised of disobeying myself for the sake of discovering my real limits. It’s autoerotic, essentially, the way I toe my own line. Boundaries seem blurred but not without penalty.

I’m never mad at my shortcomings; and, though never is so definite, and my outbursts may detest my claims, it’s more of a let down than being overly-expectant. I’d never let the world deceive me. My eyes, surely—I’ve got no control over them—but never the world.

My body feels like a galaxy that contains the liabilities of many universes, the planets within them, and the cultures speckled across them, accompanied by millions of multiples of the amount of grains of sand on Earth worth of stars in me ready to burst. I feel their pulsations.

I know there’s more than injecting atmosphere into my introspection, but what? Nothing else feels as edifying. Socializing? Far too complicated.

Still, I can be so absent at times... but it’s all a part of the process.

“Elliot, milk or cream?” Christ. Walked all this way, and I forgot to script again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I shout, but lower than typically. I’ve been working on my volume.

She was used to it, the barista. Nicole. She was a neighbor of mine; often she’d check in on me, very observant of my behavior. It brought comfort but also made me feel vulnerable in ways I didn’t desire. Nicole has long since moved out and is married now. I gaze down at the capitalistic promise choking her digit.

I always saw her on her Sunday shift, and she knew Sundays were often my worst days; still, her eyes go wide.

“Neither... I want nothing.” I back away. One. Two. Swiftly, I maneuver through the individuals that stood as obstacles for my flight.

I’m not picky, and I’m not excessively demanding. It’s just so harsh to have to narrow down your desires. Cream or milk? This or that? Why not both? What if I want sugar alone? Or nothing. Or something else?

Why are there never more options? Options make the world thrive but when it thrives as a whole it comes full stop, and someone has got to suffer. Power is not in the hands of communities the way it should be, individuals the way it should be... we are pawns.

She’s not the girl. There’s not any girl. I’ve got my own back, I don’t need any savior. Still, I await a savior like a poisonous flower’s corpse. Far beyond repair, and if revived, I’m merely a parasite.

My existence surpasses reason... maybe that is my purpose. To defy the laws of society, like gravity tugging me down; my mass cannot be destroyed, only multiplied or conjoined.

You’ll see when I see... if you can see what I see—if my words can translate the deception of my God-endowed eyes. If my sight is his grace then I am God-fearing because, GOD, do I fear his lies.

As I break free from the confinements of the cafe, I look up to a startling pair of eyes—wonderous globes that I found my own surpassing the expansion of. Dyspnea took me over, as I shoved past the pair of eyes.

My heart clogged my windpipe.

When I saw his eyes, I felt as though there was a magnet in his mind, tugging the intruders out and leaving me numb to my own psyche. I had to run. But I hoped I could one day return because I sensed his dual power to strip away my torment and restore my feeling.

He visited my nighttime fantasies but they were never lucid enough. I want to acquaint our eyes even deeper, and feel more than just his gaze. I hoped I hadn’t seen the last of him.


End file.
